08: October 2015 #14 - comfort

comfort

the television writhing
hums a midday incantation.
What I have lost
behind the sweaty
glass or the weeping coil
of a blurry mattress
cannot be measured out into tiny spoons
and poured into the obesity of a plastic mixing bowl.
This (this!) is what I have found
frothing at the edges
of an itchy lip
that breaks
at the murmur
of a fading laugh track